Bobby stared at the newspaper in front of him. The headline read: All Roads Lead to...Sioux Falls? Dick Roman to bring business/jobs to Sioux Falls, South Dakota.

“Oh, shitballs,” Bobby muttered.

As part of a new campaign to bring much needed jobs to areas of low employment, Dick Roman has proposed several projects to help boost the economy. One of these projects, an “alternative energy power plant” has been approved for several areas, including our very own Sioux Falls. The plant is to be several miles outside of town, and the plans include an increase in public transportation between several of the surrounding towns, to benefit not just the workforce, but also the environment. “It’s no longer enough to plan for today,” Roman said in his latest press conference, “we must plan for our future, and that includes green solutions to current problems. With these projects we hope to reduce not only pollution, but increase a standard of living.”

In an unprecedented move, Roman has accelerated the timetables for these power plants. As a result, surveyor teams will be arriving next week to establish the best site for the power plant. Ground will be broken on the new site this August, and Roman himself plans to be present at the ceremony. With an estimated end of construction date before the new year, this may prove to be Roman’s greatest work yet. And it’s a good thing, too. As Roman himself has said: “America is not just waiting for change. It’s hungry for it.”

Bobby put the newspaper down, eyes distant as he thought. Roman himself was coming to Sioux Falls. On the one hand, it may be close enough for them to finally get a clear shot at the bastard. But Bobby didn’t get to be where he was by assuming the best. The big-mouths knew where Bobby lived; they had known that for a while. Construction was too easy an excuse for a swarm of big-mouths on his back porch. And with Roman himself coming? No--the big-mouths were closing in, and they still knew fuck all of how to kill them.

Dean entered the kitchen, stretching out his shoulder. “You look like a ray of sunshine.” Dean said. Wordlessly, Bobby tossed Dean the front page. Dean raised his eyebrows and read over the paper. His face fell.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

“No shit,” Bobby said.

“Bobby, they--”

“I know,” Bobby snapped. “Ain’t no use crying about it, we gotta figure out how to fight it.”

“Fight what?” Sam said, coming up from the basement. Gabriel had claimed the panic room as his bedroom, and Sam had been spending most of his free time locked in with the archangel. “We got a case?”

“More like a lead on a long term project,” Bobby said.

“Leviathan?” Sam said as Dean handed him the paper. His eyebrows shot up. “Shit,” he said. “I’ll get my laptop.” Sam disappeared up the stairs, and Dean followed.

“I’ll get Cas,” he said. “We can pick his brain.”

Bobby looked around the empty kitchen. “I guess that means I’m hittin’ the books.” He had just sat down behind his desk when the Winchesters returned, Castiel in tow. Sam sat on the couch and set up his computer. Bobby frowned at him. “Sam, where’s your angel?”

“Oh,” Sam shrugged, a little sheepish. “He had a thing. He’ll be back soon.”

“A thing,” Dean said flatly. “You telling me he’s trickin’ again?”

“No,” Sam said. “He said he had a message to deliver. He didn’t say to whom.”

Dean rolled his eyes and sat in the chair next to Bobby’s desk. Castiel hovered for a moment, clearly not wanting to sit down. Bobby didn’t blame him; the whole ordeal was one long reminder of what a mess the ex-angel had made. Still, Castiel had started this; he was damn well going to be involved in the clean-up.

“Okay,” Sam said. “I have the official press release that prompted this story. There are several different works, including the power plants, of which there are—20!” Sam looked up. “That’s incredible.”

“Evil,” Dean said.

Sam rolled his eyes and looked back to his screen. “They’ve released a list of proposed sites, and they’re pretty well spread across the country.” Sam shrugged. “Sioux Falls could be a coincidence.”

“My ass,” Bobby said. “It’s Roman. He’s up to something.”

Sam shrugged. “That’s all it says about the plants. It doesn’t even say what kind of plants they are, just “green energy.”“

“Soylent Green?” Dean asked. Sam punched Dean in the arm without looking, but Bobby nodded. Turning people into food? Yeah, sounds like the Big Mouths’ MO. “The next project is in farming, it looks like. Some kind of super crop. That’s delayed because of the seasons, but appears to be a real miracle food. Grows like grain, twice as nutritious, and causes something horrible in humans, I’m sure.”

“Flavoring,” Dean snorted. Sam hummed along with dark humor. Castiel was looking at his hands.

“Cas,” Bobby said. “What can you tell us?”

Castiel was quiet for a moment, and said, “I know nothing of the plans of Dick Roman.” He looked up. “And of Leviathan, I only know that it lives to feed. It was first created, and first banished.” Castiel looked down again. “It has no soul, and is unlike anything else in creation.”

“We kinda got that, Cas,” Dean said. His voice was gentler than Bobby’s would have been. But then again, Bobby wasn’t in love with the little angel that could. Well, little ex-angel that could. “What with the whole, “we can’t kill it” thing.”

Castiel looked up at Dean, and Bobby was glad he wasn’t sleeping with the angel, or he’d be on the couch tonight. Bobby shook his head, mildly disturbed at the turn his thoughts had taken, and Castiel let Dean have it.

“I am trying my best, Dean. Leviathan wasn’t ever talked about, do you understand? It would not surprise me to find out some of my former brothers and sisters had never heard of Leviathan. It is from a time before angels, Dean. No being’s memory goes back before its birth.”

Dean looked properly chastised, and Bobby had to admire Castiel’s power; nobody had made Dean look like that since the summer before Sam went to high school. Sam, however, looked intrigued.

“What do you mean, never talked about? Was it taboo, or just not an issue?”

Castiel cocked his head, thinking. “I am not certain. I feel it began as a taboo, and became a non-issue. But,” Castiel opened his hands in a shrug, “most of my memory has faded away. I can give you a feeling, nothing more.”

“Would Gabriel know more?” Dean asked.

Castiel nodded. “Yes. Gabriel is connected to the host, and is one of the oldest of Father’s angels. If anyone would know, it would be Gabriel.” Castiel paused. “Or Death.”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. “Let’s put that on the back burner. The far, far back burner.” Sam looked back down at his screen, and started to type.

“Well,” Bobby said. “That means we hit the books until Gabriel gets back and—where did you say he was again, Sam?”

“Westerville, Ohio,” Sam muttered, and froze. He looked up at Bobby, betrayed. “Bobby!”

Bobby snorted. “What?” he said. “What’s he doing in Westerville?”

“Hopefully giving Blaine several different things that itch in intimate areas,” Kurt said from the doorway. “Last night he may have plied me with sugary confections and mostly-naked men until I bitched about Blaine, and spilled all the dirty little details. He seemed…inspired.” Kurt wasn’t in his blues, for once. Dressed almost like the Winchesters, though his clothes were much tighter, and Bobby didn’t think he’d ever see either brother in a Lady Gaga tee shirt. Well, Bobby thought, Maybe Sam. To get Dean. Puck was hovering behind Kurt, damp around the edges, though his clothes were dry. He must have gotten a ride, and Bobby felt unsettled that he had been so preoccupied that he hadn’t heard a car.

“Well for that,” Bobby said, “You’re helping. How’s your Latin?”

“Decent,” Kurt said. “My French is better.”

Bobby nodded, a book already in mind for Kurt to begin. “Puck?” he asked, handing the book to Kurt.

“Hebrew,” The teen shrugged at Bobby’s eyebrow, and Bobby felt like smacking himself. Right. Puckerman. “Bit of Yiddish. You don’t say no to Nana.”

“Good for us,” Bobby said, and handed Puck one of his copies of the Talmud. “We’re looking for references to Leviathan.”

“What, like that big ass snake-thing Gabriel’s supposed to kill?”

The room went still. “What?” Bobby said.

Puck looked up from the book, concerned. “Isn’t how the story goes? I mean, world ends, big ass snake-thing comes outta the water and Gabriel takes it out, Moby Dick style, with a big ass spear.” He shook his head. “I can’t be the only one to know this.”

“You’re not,” Bobby said, something processing at the back of his brain. “But I think you stumbled across something, kid.”

“Puck’s right,” Bobby said. “The story says Gabriel slays, or at least is tasked with slaying, Leviathan. But in all the stories Leviathan is a giant serpent.”

“But Leviathan isn’t a serpent,” Dean said. “It possesses people.”

“Like demons?” Kurt asked.

“Kinda,” Sam said. “It can do more with its host, but…” Sam trailed off, and Kurt looked a little paler than usual, though his expression didn’t change.

“Perhaps in its purest form it is a serpent,” Castiel said, shooting a surprisingly coy look at Dean “as I am a Chrysler building.” Bobby wasn’t sure exactly what that was all about, but he could guess from the Sam’s scandalized look. Dean waggled his eyebrows:

“All true.”

Puck was snickering, and Kurt was biting his lip to keep from laughing. Bobby rolled his eyes and decided to ignore the dog and pony show. “So maybe,” Bobby said, “If it’s natural form is a serpent, it needs to be a serpent to be killed. We need to make it manifest as a serpent.”

“We might not have a choice, Dean.” Bobby said, and dropped a book in Dean’s lap. Dean caught it with his junk, and curled in with an ompf. “Right now, we need information. So start reading.” Dean grumbled, but cracked the book.

Bobby sighed, and sat at his desk, pulling down the first book from a pile left from the last time he had researched Leviathan. He was really getting sick of these damned big mouths.

***

After, well, everything--He and Kurt, and monsters are real, and Blaine is douche, and fuckin’ angels and ex-angels, and the damned Leviathan--Puck was sure things would happen rather quickly. But it was really, actually, kinda the opposite.

Research was boring. If he’d had known Hunting was like school, and not, like, Sports and Glee school, or even Math school, but, like, English school, he might not have jumped on so quickly.

Nah, that was a lie. Because at night, before he went back to Jody’s, but after they finished for the day, sometimes over dinner if they had the energy, the Hunters would tell stories. They retold hunts they had been on, hunts they had heard about, funny hunts, scary hunts, kickass hunts. Puck had heard about werewolves and vampires and shifters and wendigos and demons and the freakin apocalypse--how that missed the news, Puck would never know. He was convinced more than ever that there was some sort of conspiracy of ignorance in this country--He heard about the pranks Gabriel had pulled, and the lucky rabbit’s foot, the truth about the Supernatural books and Becky and Chuck and what the Ghostfacers were really like, and wishes that shouldn’t come true, and--It felt good, hearing those stories. Like Puck was part of something he always needed to be, but never knew he could be.

Kurt, Puck could tell, was equally enraptured by the tales. Sometimes, when they were in Bobby’s den, or scattered across the porch, Kurt would lean into Puck, like he forgot they were trying to keep their distance, enraptured by the story. Puck loved those nights.

And the days; Bobby stopped giving Puck work around the salvage yard pretty quickly, first having Puck read through several books, some in Hebrew some in English, looking for references to the Leviathan. When nothing turned up, and Bobby ran out of books in languages Puck could read, he set Puck up with a Latin primer book, and Puck’s mornings were now spent learning Latin. It was easier than Spanish, but that might have been because Mr. Shue was a terrible Spanish teacher.

Then, in the afternoons, Kurt and Puck would go outside, either with one of the Hunters to learn something new, or by themselves to practice. They started running together, around the yard, and used the junk as an obstacle course, climbing over scraps of metal and jumping between tires. Puck felt his body change, the training making it harden in a way that football never could. He watched Kurt change too, filling out and tightening in a more subtle way than Puck, Kurt would never be built, but sculpted all the same. It was fuckin’ hot, and Puck found it harder and harder to keep his hands to himself when they paused for water out by the van, slick with sweat and flushed, panting for breath and amped up. By mid-July Puck knew they were in the summer days of sex, and it was only a matter of time.

Sometimes, they would bring out the guns, and Puck would learn to shoot. Or Sam and Dean would take out blades, and they’d learn how to fight with different kinds of knives. Kurt and Puck sparred now, dancing around each other, grappling and straining, and--seriously--Puck couldn’t be the only one to see how much of a tease that was.

But when they would rest, if they needed time away, they would go out to the van to talk. The minibus had gained a number of additions, chalk and marker sigils of protection, more comfortable blankets and pillows, suntan lotion for Kurt to re-apply while they were out in the sun. It made Puck really want to paint “No Girls Allowed” on the side of the bus. It was a pretty epic fort.

Castiel started joining them for bits of their training in early July, and by the beginning of August he was able to keep up with Dean, if not beat him. Puck prayed for the day when he could take Sam in a fair fight, even if Sam did have nearly a foot on him.

Latin mostly under his belt, Bobby gave Puck old journals to read, to learn about what kind of things when bump in the night. It was better than any horror story Puck had ever read, and worse because it was all real, and one wrong move could kill you.

Gabriel came and went as he pleased. Puck wouldn’t blame him. If he had been brought back from the dead after killing his brother, only to be told that he had to go back into battle where he might die, again, Puck would fuck right off and not come back. He was pretty sure Gabriel was only sticking around because Sam refused to leave. And Sam refused to leave, until they had discovered a way to make Leviathan manifest.

Puck hadn’t been there when the Hunters had grilled Gabriel for information on the Leviathan, but Kurt had. He told Puck later that Gabriel had gone very quiet when asked, and refused to speak. He had snapped, finally, when they kept pressing, saying that only his Father and Death knew how to kill Leviathan, and they weren’t talking. He had disappeared for three days, and came back smelling of sweet brandy and Swiss chocolate. Puck had checked the news that night, but there were no reports of trickery from Sweden.

Puck found himself spending more nights at Bobby’s than at Jody’s stretched out on the lumpy couch. He would say he officially changed residencies when his guitar traveled with him one day, strapped to his back. It was worth the awkward ride to see the way Kurt’s eyes lit up when he saw the instrument.

“Oh,” Kurt said. “Are we going to sing now?”

Puck shrugged. “I figured, as much time as I’m here, I might as well have it. Maybe we’ll take over story time tonight.”

“It’s a date,” Kurt said, and winked. Puck ducked his head to hide the sappy grin on his face. Yeah, he was totally love’s bitch, but hey, so was Spike on Buffy, and he was a badass, so whatever. It was cool.

Dinner that night was up to Sam and Kurt, and therefore healthier than anything else they had been eating. Sam had driven into town around noon, and returned with fresh vegetables and fruit and Puck didn’t know what else, but it made Dean look long suffering. Sam waved off the casual insults that his brother threw his way, and Kurt had simply smacked Dean’s hand with a wooden spoon when he had gone for the ‘fridge door, saying that he knew exactly how Dean ate, and if he wanted to fight him, go ahead, but he’d been having this argument with his Dad, and he always won, so try it. Dean had backed down, and when he sat next to Puck, who had been idly plucking at his guitar, Puck said.

“Wise move.”

“Shut up,” Dean muttered. However, when the fresh fruit turned out to be for fresh berry pie, Dean had no complaints.

After dinner, they settled in Bobby’s study, Puck perched on a stool and started strumming the opening to The Weight, singing the first verse softly to himself. He looked up, startled, when he heard another voice join him on the chorus. Dean was sitting on the couch and was absently sliding his fingers through Cas’s hair. Cas’s eyes were half closed, and his smile grew as Dean sang. Puck dropped out for the second verse, and Dean carried the song, apparently not aware of what he was doing until Kurt and Puck rejoined him on the chorus. He flushed hotly, but didn’t stop his singing. Puck ended the song with a decisive strum, and Kurt clapped.

“Oh, let’s do another,” he said. “I’ve missed singing.”

“You sing every day,” Sam said. “We hear you when you’re in the shower, you know.”

Puck thought, wondering what was on that album--he grinned. “Naked Eye?”

Kurt smiled. “You know me so well,” he said. Puck started to play and when Kurt sang it was with real emotion; Puck was used to the way Kurt performed in Glee, the way certain songs would bring out emotional honesty, and would get moving tears, but this--there was anger here, and frustration, and longing, and Puck played mostly on autopilot, wondering where this Kurt had been hiding.

Puck nodded, thinking for a moment. “Okay,” he said, and began “Oh mama, I’m in fear for my life/from the long arm of the law,” thumping out the pulse-beat drums on the body of his guitar. “Law man has put an end to my running, and I’m so far from my home.” Kurt joined in on the second verse, harmonizing, and Puck was once again impressed by how well their voices complimented each other. If Puck was a romantic--well, if Puck ever admitted he was a romantic, he would have said there was something fated about it. Like the universe wanted them to be together, and really, Puck was beginning to realize he wanted more than a few desperate fumbles in Bobby’s pantry. He wanted Kurt. And when Kurt screamed the “Yeah!” and Puck really started to play, it was like everything sliding into place.